Hello, Chosen
by Adica Finch
Summary: Tristan, a rising thief lord in the slums of Haven, has his world turned upside down when he robs the wrong person. Caleb, a young politician with ideas of reform, earns his own trouble when he inadvertently helps the young thief escape. ON HOLD.
1. Chapter 1 The Escape Route

**CHAPTER ONE**

**_Tristan _**

Tristan jumped a pile of rags that he suspected was in actuality some poor beggar, and continued to hurdle through the alleys of Haven. He cursed himself for letting his greed come before his common sense, and held the silk pouch tighter in his fist.

The day had started out like any other day. He and Jackson had headed out to scout their area of the city, looking for any easy pickings. It had looked promising. A group of bored young nobles had come into the slums of the city, no doubt looking for adventure. Assuming that that was all they were-young idiots that weren't going to pay attention to the 'common' fold around them-he had snuck up to the group. Jackson had protested fiercely, finally bailing on Tristan when he realized the other boy wouldn't be swayed.

That should have made up Tristan's mind then and there; it was always good to have a partner somewhere. But, he had reasoned to himself, Jackson was a pansy who never took any risks. And never brought in any big hauls. So, Tristan had gone in, filched a beautifully embroidered silk pouch, and _almost_ slipped away.

Sadly, one of those noble bastard's had a head on his shoulders. He cried out for the guards almost as soon as Tristan had snatched the goods. The damn guards, always ready to help the nobles, had been quick to respond. Which led up to Tristan's current situation.

Tristan took a right turn, and then a left, splashing through puddles and gods know what else as he frantically ran from the guards. He was making good progress when a filthy cut-throat jumped out at him. "Oh, son of a.." the boy muttered under his breath. "Get outta my way!" he screamed. The man was either half drunk or half dead, because he didn't move. In fact, he didn't even seem to realize what he was doing. Tristan slammed into him, knocking the other into a wall, and making him very angry. One more obstacle for the guards.

Tristan kicked his speed up a notch, straining his endurance, as he heard shouts from behind him. The guards had reached the other man sooner than he'd thought they would. The boy began desperately throwing crates and rubbish bins behind him, hoping to make it harder on his pursuers.

He was randomly choosing alleyways in an attempt to throw off the guards. From the sounds behind him, it wasn't working. Cursing himself fiercely, he threw himself into a right alleyway...and into broad daylight. "Shit!" he yelled, but the sound was drowned out by the people all around him. People that were blocking his escape.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he hopped up and down, hoping to find an escape route. He need not have bothered; it bumped right into him. He looked down at the young lord that had just walked into him, and, in a surge of inspiration, put his arm through the other boys, took his hat and put it on his own head, effectively covering his ridiculously red hair.

"'Ello, m'lord. Fine day, wouldn't ye' say?" They began walking with the crowd, away from the guards that were about to burst from the alley. Tristan, whose eyes had been constantly flickering from side to side, looking for any enemy, finally looked down at his companion. The young man couldn't be a year younger than Tristan himself. Obviously nobly born, he had chocolatey brown hair, and brilliant blue eyes. His nose was a little big for his face, but served rather to give it character, than to mar it.

"I daresay it is," he replied easily, as if this sort of thing happened every day. "May I ask where we're going?" the boy had a mischievous smile on his face, and his eyes were practically sparkling. Tristan thought that he might actually be alright, for a rich kid.

"Oh, jus' fer a stroll. Maybe to look fer a present fer yer sister," Tristan replied easily. Now that he had caught his breath, he rather thought it a fun idea to engage in some playful banter with the young lord.

The other boy laughed delightedly, "Ah, yes, my sister. I do spoil her rotten, after all." They continued to stroll through the street, stopping here and there to look at a stall.

The cost seemed to be clear, so Tristan thought he'd take advantage of a fine situation. "Actually, we was about to go and get some lunch, too," the young thief glanced sidelong at his companion, to gauge his reaction.

The other boy simply grinned. Tristan definitely thought that he was one of the rare good sorts. "Yes, of course. I am known for my generosity." Tristan laughed loudly. This had turned out to be a damn good morning.

They were almost to a stall selling meat pies when Tristan spotted a group of guards making their way through the crowd. They were grabbing young boys to see their faces, and warning the other nobles to guard their purses. "Let's take a raincheck on that grub, eh? I gotta split," and, without waiting for the lords response, took off down another alley and was gone.

_**Caleb**_

Caleb continued threading his way through the crowd. He wasn't really hungry, having just eaten before the young thief had come into his company. Caleb instinctively flinched away from the word thief. Being a noble, and thus a prime target, meant that uneasiness around the common folk was pretty much ingrained. Though in Caleb's case, it was considerably less.

The young noble had always had a ready amount of sympathy for those less fortunate than himself. It was often a cause for ridicule, though Caleb found that he honestly didn't care if his friends thought him soft. Was it so hard to realize that you were more fortunate than others, and that you ought to do something about it? Caleb didn't think so, and so held only scorn and contempt for those who thought to degrade him for his compassion towards commonfolk.

The young lord swiped a hand through his hair, realizing that the scoundrel had run off with his hat. He supposed it would go to better use with the other boy, considering the business he was in. It would definitely be a help with that red hair, which must have proven difficult on more than one occasion.

Caleb kept drifting, thinking about the boy he had just run into. Green eyes, coupled with that flaming red hair, made him a very striking figure, something Caleb wasn't ashamed to admit. He'd always spotted beauty in boys before girls, though he didn't think much of it. He was a boy, after all. Shouldn't he compare himself to others, check out the competition? He grinned, knowing what he was trying to convince himself, and once again not really caring. In the end he was going to be how he wanted to be, and if the world didn't like that, then it was their problem.

Caleb did decide that he wanted something to drink, though, and so seated himself at a stall. He had just finished ordering when someone hailed him from the crowd. "Caleb! Did you hear? Jensen's been robbed!" It was hard for anyone to disguise their glee at any misfortune that befell the pompous young heir, Jensen Pierce. Caleb's friend Lee wasn't even trying.

"No, I hadn't heard," Caleb said enthusiastically, though he suspected he knew who did it.

"Yeah? Well, he and his sycophants went out into the slums, looking for a bit of 'excitement', and some pickpocket nicked his purse. Right under his nose!" Lee, a tall, willowy, blonde hair, blue eyed boy, cried out happily.

"No kidding?" Caleb said, his customary grin returning to his face.

Lee waved his hands expansively. "You see all these guards? They're looking for the one who did it. I sure hope he got away! Anyone that robs Jensen deserves to keep what they got!"

Caleb laughed out loud at his friend's exuberance. "I have a feeling he will. Serves Jensen right, strutting around down there with all that money. Only an idiot would think they could get out untouched."

They both continued grinning and laughing at their peer's misfortune. "I don't even know why he's bothering with the guards," Lee continued, "it's not like he needs that money."

"I think his pride was wounded. He's attempting to salvage what dignity he has left." Caleb paid for his drink as he began walking back home with Lee.

"Well, now I really hope they don't find the rascal. Imagine the state of poor Jensen's dignity if that happened!"

"It would be in shreds!" Caleb exclaimed. They both laughed all the way home.


	2. Chapter 2 Promotion

**CHAPTER TWO**

**_Tristan_**

Tristan reached the hideout completely out of breath, and totally ecstatic. He had gotten away! With a whole pouch of money! He and the boys hadn't seen anything this good in...hell, they hadn't ever seen anything this good!

The thief opened the side door to the Companion's Choice Inn, and made his way to the office in the back. They had a nice arrangement with the owner; they got the Underground (as they liked to call the three rooms under the inn) and in return gave the owner, Manny, 25 of all earnings. Not bad, considering that the Underground was relatively clean and came furnished.

There was a trapdoor under the desk in the little-used office. Tristan easily undid the hidden catch and let himself down the ladder, whistling merrily the whole time. He walked into the common area to find Taz, their thief lord, standing beside Jackson and arguing mightily with Tom, Butch, and Dennis.

"It were a stupid risk!" Taz was exclaiming, "'e shouldn' 'ave e'en tried et! E's gonna bring tha 'ole guard down 'ere! E's out!"

It was not hard for Tristan to discern who they were talking about."I'm out, em I? I guess I'm not complainin', what wit' all this loot I jus' filched." Tristan emptied the bag of coins out onto the table. Even he gasped when he saw the full amount sitting there. There was a small mountain of gold. No silver. The three brothers, Tom, Butch, and Dennis, came over grinning. They each clapped Tristan on the back once they got over the initial shock of so much money.

"I tol' ye, ye stupid sonofabitch!" Dennis exclaimed, "th' boy is better'n all of us! We knowed 'e could do et!"

Taz was only able to stand there spluttering.

"I known 'e were goin ta do et. I was jus' testin' yer faith in 'im," the thief lord managed after awhile.

"O right, now thet 'e's standin' 'ere wit' all tha' money, suddn'ly 'e's the greatest, eh? Ye piece of shit," Tom spat, "Ye don' care 'bout ye're boy's. All ye care 'bout es tha money."

"I don' think ye're worth a damn," Butch declared, "ye're tha shittiest thief lord this side o' Haven. Ef et weren't fer us, ye wouldn' even be respec'able."

"Yea, wat 'ave ye ever done fer us? Ye ain't no kind of prop'r thief lord. Ne'er doin notin' fer us, espectin' us to do everythin fer ye." Dennis put in. The brothers were really working themselves up. Tristan was beginning to worry that this time they were serious. They often complained about Taz's leadership, but never did anything about it. Tristan had never really had cause to worry.

Brown haired, blue eyed Dennis was always prone to bitching and complaining, but seemed to get his fun out of the yelling, rather than actually acting on anything. Tom, brown haired, with a bushy mustache had great fun with picking on everyone, harassing them as often as possible, but never seriously. And Butch? Perhaps he was one to be reckoned with. He, too, had a mustache, though it drooped more. Brown haired and blue eyed like his brothers, he had both his brother's qualities, though he was known more for crude jokes and bragging. He was muscle where Dennis was pudgy, broad shouldered where Tom was lanky, and very happy to throw his fists around.

"Tris 'ere coulda jus' took off wit' 'is catch, but 'e didn', did 'e?" Tom said thoughtfully, "I bet _ye_ woulda. Jus' leave us fer dead, like no prop'r thief lord."

"Yea, ye cock sucker. Tris, 'ere, 'e's a helluvalot better'n ye," Butch all but growled.

"I think ets 'bout time fer a change," Dennis said ominously.

"What?!" Taz shrieked, "what are you'se sayin'?"

"That ye're out. We's think Tris id be better'n ye," Dennis said firmly.

"I ain't steppin' down!" Taz exclaimed, "I'm the thief lord, not sum littl' street scum! 'E ain't got nothin' I ain't got!" Taz was nearly frantic to hold his title. Tristan found that he was agreeing with the brothers. Though the prospect of becoming thief lord when he was only fifteen was a little daunting, he couldn't help but be intrigued by the idea. "Ef you'se make 'im tha thief lord, I'll leave, an' you'se won' ev'r see me again!"

Butch, voice ringing with contempt, said loudly, and clearly, "then get out." He pointed to the door, glaring at the former thief lord, with his brothers standing firm behind him.

Taz's face fell into a thunderous scowl. He picked up his coat and boots and stalked to the door. "Ye'll regret this," he said dangerously, "I'll make sure o' et."

Butch took a threatening step towards him, making Taz scamper out without another word. They had all forgotten about Jackson, until he went running out the door after Taz. The kid always was a pansy.

_**Caleb**_

Caleb was sitting in his desk, standing out starkly in his blue affiliates clothing amongst all the grey of herald trainees. He was doodling absently in his notebook while he listened to Herald Keller talk about much of the same stuff. Which basically meant that the Herald was droning on about everything the Kings and Queens and Heralds have _done,_ but not what they're doing. Probably because they're not doing _anything._

Sure, the kingdom had made great progress over the last hundred years, but what good did it do when the men up top just stopped? It could no longer be said that Valdemar was progressing, because nothing new was being done. Public schools had been opened. That was a major break through, and something to be thrilled about, but that was over half a century ago. The breakfast's were great too, but those two things were hardly impressive over the long run.

The Herald's were wonderful, but they are mainly on circuit outside of big cities. Haven, especially. When you're a Herald, and in Haven, you're pretty much off duty. Haven was left to the guards. And what good were they? They're nothing but a group of petty men, full of themselves and their authority, susceptible to bribes and flattery. The crown city was not in particularly good hands.

Caleb was really getting tired of listening to this. "Excuse me, Herald Keller?"

The balding Herald looked up, surprised at the interruption. "Yes, Caleb?"

"Well, I've been wondering, when are we going to talk about the recent developments of crown and kingdom?" He said it ever-so-politely.

The Herald looked taken aback. "Young man, we have been talking about that all term." The herald trainees snickered, the two bardic trainees perked up in the hope of something interesting about to happen, and, unbeknownst to Caleb, the other three affiliates watched him in rapt attention.

Caleb frowned, pursing his lips as he pretended to think. "When did you say that the public schools were opened?"

"The year 1376, after the founding, during the reign of Queen Selenay, of course." Herald Keller crossed his arms, waiting for Caleb's response.

"On, _of course_," he said, as if he hadn't known all along, "and that was at least sixty-five years ago, correct?"

Caleb's teacher shifted a bit uncomfortably as he began to realize what his pupil was getting at. "Well, yes, I suppose it was."

"And the breakfasts, for the students in those schools, were incorporated at about the same time? Sixty-five years ago?" Caleb folded his hands on top of his desk politely, as he waited for the answer.

Herald Keller rubbed the back of his neck a bit bashfully. The students stopped snickering. "Yes, that's right."

Caleb cocked his head to the side. "And that_ is_ what we've been talking about all term, isn't it?"

"Yes, you know it is." The middle-aged Herald began to scowl. No one liked being put in their place by a mere boy. "And just what are you getting at, young man?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just making sure I had all the facts down. So, that's two things that the kingdom of Valdemar has done in the last century. Anything else?"

"Well, of course. We made peace with Karse, made contact with Iftel, brought down that bastard in Hardorn..."

"Yes, and those things were all very good for the country, of course. They greatly 'benefitted' the common folk," Caleb said absently, as he went back to doodling.

"We Herald's do our best!" Herald Keller exclaimed, more than a little ruffled by his student's questioning.

"I'm not saying that you don't. I could never do most of the things you do. You risk your lives every day for the people of this country," Herald and trainees alike smiled with pride at this. "I'm just saying that you do it outside of Haven," and then promptly fell back into indignant scowls. The bell rang for the end of classes just then, saving Caleb from any defensive and outraged statements that may have been forthcoming.

He was almost out of the school when he was approached by a group of affiliates. "Hey, Caleb," Lee began, "we told some of the other Blue's about how you made a stand back there in class."

"Did you?" Caleb asked, a bit surprised. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

"Maybe not to you," Jesse began, "but to us? It was. None of us would ever have the guts to talk to a Herald like that." Caleb was a bit surprised that Jesse was even talking to _him_. She was the shyest girl in the Collegium. Jesse was one of those rare finds, not a noble, but rather a common girl who showed an extreme amount of intelligence and was recommended by the priest teaching her to the Collegium.

"You're really good at that, you know? Getting your thoughts and beliefs out there, I mean," Peter said. He _was _nobly born, though a bit slow. That didn't stop him from having a big heart, though. Caleb had come to greatly appreciate his friendship.

"Really, guys," Caleb began, as he felt himself blush, "I'm really flattered, but that's just how I am. No big deal..."

"Exactly!" Lee exclaimed, "that's just how you _are!_ You're a natural!"

"Natural what?" Caleb asked. He was beginning to suspect that they were up to something.

"Listen, Caleb, I'm just going to get right to the point," Morgan started saying. He'd always liked Morgan, she had an efficient, no-nonsense attitude. Very effective to work with. "You've got a certain charisma about you. Like a natural leader. You're great at speaking, and defending what you believe in. Basically, we all believe in the same things you do. We would like you to be the president of a society we're starting up. The National Advancement for Commonfolk, or NAC."

Caleb, besides feeling like he'd just been kicked by a horse, was rather intrigued. "It sounds promising. But, what would I have to do? What would this society do?"

"Well," the ever-enthusiastic Lee began, "we would begin with simply recruiting members, we're not very impressive with just the five of us. Then we would begin coming up with ideas and making plans for the advancement of commonfolk. We would also need to find sponsors for the group, to help out with the financial bits. We would basically spread awareness of the poverty of commonfolk, publish stories on some of the unfortunates, things like that."

"And I would just decide what we should and shouldn't do?" Caleb asked. It all seemed too simple, any of them could have done that.

"Well, no. You'd petition the King and Queen with our ideas," Lee said as he eyed Caleb expectantly.

"Ah. And that is why you were making such a fuss over how well I speak. I see."

"We've been considering you for a long time, Caleb. What you said in class today confirmed that you were the one," Morgan said firmly.

"You'll probably have to make speeches at functions and things, too," Jesse said thoughtfully.

Caleb was thrilled. He knew that this wasn't something that you should just throw yourself into, but it was something he'd been waiting for. Something he'd wanted for a very long time. People that actually wanted to _do_ something. "Alright, I will," he said quietly, and then, with more confidence, "yeah! I'll lead NAC."

Caleb couldn't believe that of all the people that could have done something, it was a group of fifteen-year-old affiliates. He snorted, and people thought that Herald's were the only one's that ever did anything.


	3. Chapter 3 A Thief and Two Scoundrels

**authors note: **ok, well..to my lovely reviewers, i wrote something in my profile to ya'll, in the hopes that you'd see it. so, if you're interested check it out. i've decided to make sunday an update day, so look for a new chapter then. i'll do my best to stick with it, although i am pathetic and tend to put things off on an abnormal level. sigh still, i'll do my best. Man! and i just discovered that handy little button that puts in a whole line to seperate scenes! yes! so, that will be done from now on as well. everything else i tried ended up disappearing as soon as i uploaded, but now the problem is solved. Ok! enough of this. go read, enjoy, ask me any questions you may have...and ...i'm shutting up now!

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Tristan**_

Tristan cracked his fingers as he observed the 'make over' of the hideout. They'd had enough gold to install some much appreciated luxuries. A bit more than twenty-five percent slipped into Manny's pocket was all it took for the inn keeper to get running water and a fireplace installed in the Underground. Anyone curious assumed it was for more wealthy guests and their entertainers, which also explained why the Underground was almost never spoken of, and left completely alone.

The rest of the gold had been used to buy foodstuffs and carpet to cover the cold stone floors, giving the area a brighter, more homey look. The installation had taken months, due to bad weather, and the need to effectively devise a way to get a chimney up and pipes down.

The three brothers were out and about, spending the last of their gold on whore's and other useless ventures. Tristan felt no irritation towards their disregard for the gold they received. He was terribly fond of them all, and looked upon their flagrant spending with a sort of paternal affection and indulgence, even though they were all a few years older than him. By how much, none of them knew. The only thing that was certain was that Butch was the oldest and Tom the youngest.

Savoring his time alone, the young thief lord tried out the shower, making the water so hot it was nearly scalding, spending at least an hour letting the water run over him. After that he flopped down on his bed, taking down the young lords hat (which he kept pinned to the wall) and twirling it in his hands. He no longer needed it, having bought dye to change his hair from its fiery red to a more subdued black. Tristan greatly regretted the change, having been terribly fond of his flaming locks, but knew that if he was to be practical then the hair had to go.

After laying on his bed for a few minutes, he put the hat back up on the wall, wondering, not for the first time, who the young lord had been. Tristan supposed he ought to thank him some day, maybe return the hat, buy him something to eat to show his appreciation...

Tristan jumped nearly a mile high when the door to his room slammed open. "Wat tha' 'ell are ye smilin' 'bout?" Dennis asked when he walked in on Tristan's goofy grin.

"I dunno..." he answered honestly. He jumped up, suddenly full of energy. "So? Ye thin' I'm ready?" he asked eagerly, rather than dignified and nonchalantly as he'd intended.

"Dunno," Dennis answered gruffly, "I's not's tha un teachin' ye." Tristan clapped him on the back. It had always been a sore spot with Dennis that he could never roof walk, due to his pudgy height.

They walked out into the common area together, to find Butch and Tom playing a game of cards. The two players pretended not to notice them, knowing what Tristan was eager to hear. It was times like this that he regretted his indulgence in their teasing. He sat down, indicating that they pass him a hand when they began a new round. Dennis busied himself making something to eat. "Wat you'se wan' ta' et?" he asked.

He was answered simultaneously with: "Dunno, don't care, whate'er."

"'Ow the 'ell em I s'posed ta cook fer you'se ef y'ins don' e'en know wat you'se wan'?!"

He was answered with another round of "Dunno, don't care, whate'er."

He threw his hands in the air, turning to the storage cabinet while mumbling about why he even bothered making them dinner if they don't care, that he was under appreciated, and much more of the same stuff he loved to bitch about.

It wasn't until the end of quite a few rounds that Tom informed Tristan that he was Ready. He was more than thrilled. "Tonight, then?" he asked expectantly.

"'Ell, ye got's ta stert sumtime," Butch said with a grin.

"Exc'lent," Tristan said, rubbing his hands together while getting his enthusiasm under control. "D'ye 'ave a house mark'd fer me?"

"Ye, we give ye the low down a'ter dinner," Tom said, as he picked up a piece of sauce- free chicken. Dennis, being the one that knew how, and loved, to cook, had made chicken with some sort of tangy sauce. It was a regular meal, cheap and easily made.

"Wat tha hell are ye doin', ye goddamn son of a bitch?!" Dennis suddenly exclaimed out of nowhere, as he glared at Tommy.

"Wat er ye talkin' 'bout, ye cock sucker?" Tom exclaimed, eyes growing wide in bewilderment as he wondered what his suddenly crazy brother was talking about.

"Ye' alw'ys eat tha chick'n wit' sauce!" Dennis said in extreme annoyance.

"I ne'er eat it wit' sauce, I hate tha sauce!" Tom yelled, growing indignant.

"Ye alw'ys did in tha past!" Tristan and Butch stood on the sidelines, watching their fellow thief's argue over sauce. Neither boy attempted to hide their laughter; arguments like this were all too common.

"Why d'ya care?! Ye want tha ones wit' goddam sauce?" Tom growled out, fed up with the bickering.

"No, I don' care," Dennis said casually, as if nothing had happened.

"Then wha' tha 'ell were ye gettin' so pissed 'bout?" the offended party yelled, thoroughly exasperated with his older brother.

"Because ye alw'ys eat it wit' sauce!" There was a slight pause, like the calm before a storm, and then the room exploded with laughter as all the boys acknowledged the stupidity of the argument.

* * *

Tristan was nearly shaking from excitement; the adrenaline coursing through him would rival any five-year-old child hopped up on sweets and juice. It was cold tonight, enough so that Tristan had to wear gloves and a hat, adding to the look of a burglar.

He was perched atop a small shop in the rich folk's market, working himself up for the moment he would make his way across the roofs and into a rich merchant's house. His mark had been carefully picked by the brother's; the man who owned it lived alone, except for servants, was a total ass, and had a pack of dogs as his only protection. The man was too hopped up on self-importance to think that anything so menial as a robbery could happen to _him._ Tristan was about to humiliate him.

Butch and Tom had left him at the market, indicating what house he should hit and wishing him luck. For a moment Tristan had felt panic; he hadn't known what to do and felt utterly lost without his two companions. That thought was quickly replaced with confidence as he realized that he _did_ know what to do, and it was about time he got started.

The young thief began making his way along the rooftops; the shops were so crammed together that it took nothing but a leap to make it from roof to roof. Ten minutes later he was atop the pretty but poorly shingled roof of the merchant's house. It was a big house, one of those three story monstrosities that the rich feel the need to buy for no other reason than to show off their wealth.

Tristan looked down from the impressive height and into the courtyard below. A cobbled path led from the iron gate to the front door. The yard itself was riddled with statues, though they hardly deserved the name, they were such pathetic pieces of art. They boy was hardly intimidated by the crumbling and disfigured mounds of rock, although, coupled with the howling wind and the moonless night, it created a very forbidding image.

He began making his way down the side of the house; the owner had provided plenty of foot and hand holds in the form of useless ornamentation. In a matter of minutes he was loosening the shutters of a third floor window and slipping into the house. According to the brothers, he should be in a guestroom next to the master bedroom. He made his way across the carpeted floor as stealthily as he could, and in a few moments opened the bedroom door and emerged in a hallway.

The hall had candles burning in sconces attached to the wall, casting eerie shadows all over the ceiling. It was a creepy house, and Tristan couldn't help but think this guy was a freak, and in serious need of a social life. He stood for a moment pondering which direction to go. The candles cast off some light, true, but in either direction was a blanket of darkness. He went through the layout of the house in his mind again. He was on the right side of the house. The kitchen was supposed to be beneath him. Using the layout and his own common sense, he went left and after about a minute came to the stairway.

This was where it got tricky. There was a general system that people used to hide their goods. Certain 'hot spots' where money and such was hidden. It was always best to start with the bottom of the house; the bedroom was on the list, but you never wanted to do that first and risk waking up the owner and not even getting the goods.

So, Tristan continued on his merry way until he came to the sitting room. Sure enough, there was a large portrait of some bulbous woman on the wall, and a desk in the corner. This was the common layout and an obvious hiding place. Tristan sauntered over to the painting, feeling quite sure of himself, pulled it back, and, sure enough, found a safe hidden behind it. He snickered to himself, thinking this man was truly an idiot, when he heard something break behind him.

Tristan turned around slowly, with eyes suddenly gone wide, and his mind yelling 'ye're an idiot!' Not ten feet away from him was a snarling, salivating, monster of a dog. Tristan gulped, audibly. He'd forgotten to secure the damn dog, and now there was nothing he could do about it. "Nice doggy," he said helplessly, as he began sliding towards the steps. The beast watched him with its eyes, waiting to be provoked into an attack.

Some unknown quality about him suddenly made the dog snap, because half way to the steps the canine charged, barking like a mad thing. With a yelp, Tristan threw himself up the stairs, forgetting all his training. The two of them made enough noise to wake the household. Luckily, Tristan's escape route was at the beginning of the hall; the servants saw only a shadowy figure dodge into a vacant bedroom and slam a door in the dogs face.

Tristan was frantically scrambling back up onto the roof when some quick-witted servant threw open the door and let the dog in. The beast just managed to snap up Tristan's ankle before he could pull himself up. The would-be thief screamed in pain and outrage, and, in an act of desperation, punched the hound right in its grotesque face and jumped out the window.

_**Caleb**_

Caleb was feeling a bit depressed. He hadn't expected the NAC to take off right away, but after six months he had hoped for _some_ progress. The idea had yet to catch. He'd just been released from another day of useless schooling, and was on his way to his 'office'.

He and the other members-the original other four plus the addition of three bards, a healer, and two more blues- had planned a meeting, of sorts, after lessons were ended. It was time they made a game plan. They had been mainly trying to rally support and bring over sponsors and members to their organization. No more of that. It was time to do something, and to hell with all those who thought they were too good to join up with a bunch of 'babies.' Maybe once they'd actually shown what they had to offer the reactions of others would be different.

With a valiant attempt to replace melancholy with determination, Caleb began to whistle a merry, if strained, tune, and continued on his way. When he reached the guesthouse in Lee's backyard, also known as the NAC headquarters, he was surprised to see two scraggily looking children sitting on the front steps with a cake in their hands.

He approached them in perplexity. The young lord was unsure of what to expect. The child holding the cake jumped up, grinning like a maniac. "Ello, mi'lor!" he exclaimed. The youth was so happy to see him that Caleb couldn't help but smile. Besides, the little boy's red hair reminded him, quite unexpectedly, of that thief he'd run into six months ago. Thinking about that, he couldn't stop his smile from turning into a grin, although he couldn't understand why.

"Why, hello. Is there something you need?" Tristan felt that was kind of lame, but he didn't quite know how to handle the situation.

The other child, a girl with darker hair who appeared to be a year or so older, stood up as well. "Ell, mi'lor, we was sent by our mama ti gi' ye this 'ere 'ake."

She was about to elaborate when her younger brother chimed in, quite enthusiastically, "Ye! She was so e'cited tha' ye were 'elpin' awr fam'ly out, tha' she bak'd ye a cake!" The boy eyed the cake longingly, licking his lips as he did so. "We 'ardly ev'r get cake," he said mournfully.

Tristan laughed delightedly, his own grin morphing into one like the little boy's. "Well, then I guess we'll just have to share it!" He opened up the door, motioning that they should proceed him in. They did, giggling happily at their turn of luck.

He set the kids up in the small kitchen, cutting off three generous pieces of cake. He figured he ought to indulge. The three ate in a companionable silence, and, just as Caleb was about to inquire just who they were, Lee and Jesse walked in.

"Whoa!" Lee exclaimed with a grin, "Caleb, I had no idea!"

"Shut up," Caleb said, though he, too, was grinning.

Lee plopped down in a chair and cut himself and Jesse a piece of cake, knowing that Jesse would be too shy to ask for one. "So, what're your names?" he asked the young ones, getting straight to the point.

"Em Georgie, an' tha's Piper," the boy supplied, pointing at himself and then his sister.

"Well, hello, kiddo's!" Lee said, shaking each of their hands vigorously, and causing each one to blush pleasantly at being treated so kindly. "I'm Lee, and this is Jesse, and that young man is Caleb, the leader of this humble abode."

Both children grinned and confirmed that they knew who _Caleb_ was, almost everyone did these days. This information caused Lee to raise his eyebrows at his 'president', who had been just as blind-sided by the news. Shaking his head, he looked back at the two youngsters, who were still eyeing everyone and everything appreciatively.

Caleb was struck with a sudden idea. It was something they'd talked about, but had never quite gotten around to. This was the perfect place to begin. "Well, Georgie and Piper, do you think you could do me a favor?" Caleb asked politely.

They both grinned and perked up at the chance to help out a lord. "Wat is et, mi'lord?" Piper asked eagerly.

"Do you think," Caleb began as he leaned towards them, "that you could ask your mother to come visit me when she has some free time? I'd like to meet her."

"Eally!?" Georgie exclaimed, clearly thrilled, "ye'd like te meet mama?!"

"We'd be 'appy te, mi'lor," Piper put in before her brother could get carried away. "Actu'ly, we shoul' be goin'." She stood up and grabbed he little brothers hand.

Jesse stood up at the same time, taking Georgie's other hand. "I'll walk you out, little miss," she said with a kind smile. Piper giggled happily and walked with her out the door.

"Well!" Caleb exclaimed, "that was sure unexpected." Lee nodded his agreement and began clearing off the table.

"What are you planning with their mother? I can tell you don't want to just talk with her," Lee asked suspiciously.

"Well, remember how we said we'd get people's story out there? To make other's more aware of how hard life is?" Lee nodded as understanding dawned. "Well, now that we've got bards to help us out, I figured we'd start with Georgie and Piper's mother. They were the first to show appreciation, so why not?"

"Sounds great to me!" Lee said. "I'd like to meet the woman that gave birth to such lively young chaps."

"They were a hoot, weren't they?" Caleb asked, rhetorically.

"Who was?" Morgan asked as she entered the room. The tale of the two children was told and then retold as the rest of the organization filed in. Once all were present, they moved into more appropriate quarters than the kitchen.

"So?" Caleb began, "who's ready to make a game plan?" This was met with unanimous agreement. Thus had the meeting begun.


	4. Chapter 4 Two Touched by Crime

**Alright guys, don't kill me. I know that I totally blew that whole "update on Sunday" thing. Sorry. I just find it hard to get in the groove, and when I have free time, I like to spend it on other things (reading, video games, etc). Once summer rolls around, this will be updated non-stop, I guarantee it. Until then, it's going to be slow going. Right-o. so, I hope this one is long enough to satisfy ya'll.  
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**reviews are much appreciated!!! **

**aldoraspritelett: your reviews made my day; for both of my stories. That meant a lot, on the Pern one, especially since I've been finding that story lacking in the entertainment area. I think i've put it on hold. I'm glad you like this one too; it's pretty straight forward, nothing as elaborate as dear Wolf Music's, but I like this one. :-) Names are ALWAYS appreciated, if you think of any, drop me a line. **

**Jonathan: forgive me. PLEASE! ah! i'm so sorry that i suck at life. But, like i said above, updates will begin increasing when we hit summer, which is in only 30 days!!! (yes, i'm counting) check out my profile if you haven't already; i totally decided to do what i said in THIS chapter...yeah, entertaining material was lacking, so i went for it...but it was left on a cliffhanger. dun dun dun. haha. but i guess you know what's gonna happen...and anyone else who reads my profile. :-/ haha. o well. enjoy!!!**

**GinaLee:-D i'm happy to see that you're sticking with my stories! it really makes my day that you like them. You've been there since the beginning, and i hope that you'll keep reading whatever else i spit out. Oh, and i'm red-robining a story with the writer Wolf Music. It's pretty silly, and probably not that funny to anyone who doesn't know us personally, but it's a way to combat writer's block. ****  
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**Chapter Four**

_**Tristan**_

Lady Luck must have been smiling down on him, for when he jumped out that window he had no idea what was beneath him, an oversight that could have cost him his life. Luckily, there was a patch of bushes that ran along this side of the house; sure, they were thorny, and he got a helluvallota scratched up, but they were springy enough to keep him from breaking anything.

His stunt took everyone so completely by surprise that he was able to get up and over the wall before anyone got out of the house. It was not easy to keep up the pace he was going on foot, however. His ankle was killing him where that damn dog nearly took his foot off.

He ducked into the relative safety of the alleys and slowed down, confident that no one would find him in the maze of corridors between buildings. It reeked in the garbage infested allies, and he was stepping in so much unidentifiable liquid and sludge that he would have to buy new shoes. But it was worth it if he could only get back to the Underground.

Tristan was only a block away, and nearly delirious with pain, when he stumbled, literally, across a body. He got up, and was ready to continue moving- after all, what was another body back here? No one cared - when said body reached up and grabbed his ankle. It was the one that hadn't been mauled by the dog, otherwise he'd be flat on his ass again.

"Kid," the man gasped, "finish me, will ya?" Tristan peered down at him, squinting his eyes through the pain in his leg as he did so. After he got his vision steady, he realized that this was no ordinary murder victim; he wasn't scraggly and dirty like the usual bunch, he was finely clad and bejeweled.

Tristan swallowed, hard. "Mista' I don' wan' nothin' ta do wit' ya," he said, beginning to back away. But the man's grip was like iron, he wasn't going to let Tristan get away.

"Have mercy," he pleaded, as tears began to trail down his face.

Tristan was shaking his head slowly. He'd never killed a man, he didn't want to start now. He knew plenty of people out there who enjoyed it too much; he didn't want to become one of them. Yet, it wasn't right to just leave this man here, suffering and gasping for air. He'd been stabbed through the stomach. The man was in for a long and painful night if Tristan didn't do something.

"Le' meh take ya ta the 'Ealers, mi'lor," he said. Obviously this man was rich enough to afford it. Tristan sure as hell didn't know how he'd get him there when he had a useless ankle; he'd probably have to fetch the brothers.

"No!" the noble said, "no, I beg you, don't take me there," his eyes had gone wide, and he looked panicked.

Tristan frowned, who the hell was this guy? He was a _noble_, for Haven's sake, the Healers would be_ happy_ to help him. Apparently he'd voiced this thought out loud, for he was given a response. "I don't want to explain how I got wounded," he said without meeting Tristan's eyes. Tristan frowned, and squatted down to get a better view of this man. Sadly, his ankle wouldn't support his weight, and he was sent sprawling. Grumbling, he got himself situated sitting cross-legged, and leaned over the man.

The noble was not particularly attractive; he had dull brown hair and muddy brown eyes. It looked like he'd been letting himself go as he got older; he was developing a bit of a gut. There was nothing obviously remarkable about him, nothing to indicate who he was. Tristan would have leaned back, given up his search as useless, and knocked the man out so that he could be dragged to the Healers, had the noble not gone into a fit of coughing. It could barely be called coughing at all; it was a rattling, wheezing sound that caused blood to dribble from the corner's of his mouth.

Once he was done with his fit, he let his head fall back to the pavement, causing his hair to fall away from his ears. Tristan sucked in a breath as he saw the earrings in each lobe. They were shaped into tiny silver hands, palm up. All pity washed away from Tristan as he realized who this man must be: Hugh Tevron, the most notorious child rapist in Haven.

The hand shaped earrings were his own sick joke; they represented how he liked to grope, go into a little foreplay before ravishing his victims. Tristan recoiled impulsively. He should let this son of a bitch rot. Disgusted, Tristan pushed himself away as far as possible, and when his back hit the wall, scooted himself up. "Why the _hell_ should I help _you_?" Tristan asked, annunciating each word carefully so that his voice wouldn't shake.

Hugh let out a nearly maniacal laugh, "You recognize me, then?" the laugh quickly degenerated into coughing, and it was a few minutes before either could speak again.

"Yeah, I rec'nize ya, ye son of a bitch," Tristan spat out.

The good for nothing bastard smiled in a way that Tristan did not like at all, and then sighed. "Look, kid, I know you don't have any reason to help me."

"Yer damn right I don'," Tristan muttered under his breath.

"But I do not want my wife and children to know about this. How would you feel if you found out your father was the sick son of a bitch that had been terrorizing your city for years?" The man had a point, yet Tristan could not find it in himself to give this man mercy. He was shaking his head again, slowly, from side to side.

"Look," Hugh said, "I got a lot of money on me, take it all. Just kill me," his voice was becoming drawn with pain, and sweat had broken out on his forehead. Yet, he was still able to draw a heavy, and jingling, purse from his belt. "Take it."

Tristan wanted to kick it aside. Why would he want the money this leech was offering him? It was tainted. The noble grinned again, "You're scared, ain't ya?"

Tristan scowled, kicking him in the side as he did so. Hugh let out a satisfying "oof" when his foot made impact. "Ye disgus' meh," the thief lord said quietly, ready to walk away.

"If you don't kill me, the Guard might find me, and then I'll get taken to the Healer's whether I want to or not," he said through the agony he must certainly be in. "I'm ready to die, now, but if I get taken into the Healer's I just might think up a plausible story, and then continue with my little games." This man really was sick.

Tristan stopped, and turned around. That was a good point; Tristan couldn't take the chance of letting this man continue his rape fest. He set his face, and drew his dagger; it was a plain thing; except for the blade, which had a spirit wolf twining around it, and a silver handle, there was no other ornamentation. It was old; the blade had been re-sharpened so many times that its width was at least an inch less than when it was originally forged.

Tristan valued it nontheless; it had been passed down through his family for generations, and had originally belonged to a very famous Herald, though Tristan found that to be a little far- fetched. How could the family of such a venerated Herald have degenerated into common theives? He didn't dwell on its history; it was a good blade, that was what mattered.

The young thief lord went down on his knees in front of one of the most notorious criminals in Haven. "May ye' rot in hell," he said softly, deftly drawing his dagger across the man's throat as did. Tristan found himself numb and unflinching as the warm blood sprayed across his face; this man deserved death, Tristan would not allow himself pity.

_**Caleb**_

Caleb was eating lunch when the news came to him in the form of a very subdued Lee. "Hey, Cale," he said quietly, seating himself across the table from his friend, "did you hear the news?"

Caleb frowned, swallowing his food before he spoke, "No, has something happened?" He didn't like the look on Lee's face; in fact, he didn't like anything about Lee today. It was not good to see Lee looking upset, not when he was such a happy go lucky person.

"Hugh was murdered last night," he said simply, bowing his head as he did so.

Caleb's eyes widened, and he found that tears were building behind his emerald orbs, "Hugh? No. No, it's not possible. He's never done anything to anyone," Caleb said numbly. He swallowed back the sob that was trying to escape from his throat, and took a drink of water.

Lee simply stared at him. "He must have done something," Lee said softly, "they ran him through, slit his throat, and took his money," tears were slowly sliding down Lee's face; it was enough to start Caleb's own.

"I can't believe it," Caleb said, heart brokenly, "why? Why Hugh? What's he ever done to anyone?" But Lee could only shake his head.

After a few minutes, Lee spoke up, "You know where it happened?"

"No, of course not," Caleb snapped, Lee took no notice, though.

"The slums," the young noble said in disgust.

"Are you trying to say something?" Caleb asked quietly. He hadn't liked the way Lee said that last at all. The disgust on his friend's face was almost as heart breaking as the news.

"They're all so ungrateful," Lee said uncharitably.

"No, Lee, no, don't say that," Caleb cried, feeling the tears start afresh. Was he going to lose his best friend because of this?

"Why not?" he spat out, "it's true. That man did nothing but try to help them, he was always talking about the children, and how do they repay him?" he flung his hands into the air, anger replacing his grief.

"Lee, you know that's not true, they're not all like that," Caleb said through his tears. This wasn't fair.

Lee snorted. "It's not like we've had a lot of proof, but of course you're only going to defend _them_," he hissed. The young man pushed his chair away aggressively and stormed out of the room. He didn't want to pick a fight with Caleb on top of everything else.

Caleb was left to silently nurse his grief, hoping that he hadn't lost Lee as well.

* * *

Caleb was working in his office a few day's later when Georgie and Piper popped into the room. He'd sequestered himself away from everyone the past few days, unwilling to ascertain the other's feelings on the murder. He wouldn't have been able to bear it if they were inclined towards Lee's opinion.

His eyes were still red rimmed and puffy, and he hadn't eaten much of anything since the news. Seeing the grinning children brought an answering smile to his face, however. "Hey, kiddies, how are you?"

"We are a'ight, mi'lord," Piper said, attempting to speak correctly. Caleb and the other's had been teaching the children proper grammar, something each of them were eager to learn. He felt a pang of grief as he remembered how earnestly Lee had taught the two of them; how could Lee think them all ungrateful, when they had these two treasure's to remind them?

"Got any food?" Georgie asked, looking around as he did so.

Caleb laughed. These two hadn't known Hugh, they were untouched by grief, and were like a breath of sunshine. "Sure, sure, of course," they had taken to keeping food in the pantry; Georgie was always hungry.

They trooped into the kitchen, the two young one's chattering away as they did so. "How about some apples?" Caleb asked, knowing the answer.

"Yes!"

He tossed one to each kid, and then poured them some juice. He sat down across from them, with only a cup of juice for himself. "So, what's up?" he asked. They always had a reason for stopping by, other than an empty stomach, that is.

Georgie glanced at Piper before answering him, "Well, mi'lor', we was wonderin' if somethin' was wrong," he swallowed before continuing, "we saw mi'lor' Lee today, and he wouldn' even talk ter us." Caleb sighed sympathetically. Georgie was particularly found of Lee, he nearly worshiped the older boy.

"A friend of ours was killed a few nights ago," Caleb said gently, "and Lee is very upset about it. He won't talk to anyone."

"Oh, well, ok, then. I jus' wanted ta make sure he weren't mad at meh or somethin'," Georgie said. "Mehbe I can make 'im feel better," he said thoughtfully.

Caleb smiled indulgently, "Sure, Georgie. You always make me smile, you might be able to help him out." In fact, Georgie just might be able to make Lee realize that he was wrong. That there were grateful people out there. People that deserved their help. The child broke out into a huge grin before hugging Caleb.

Piper was grinning too, which infected Caleb and caused him to grin. He really did love these kids. "Come along, I'll take you to Lee."

* * *

The meeting between Lee and the children turned out successful. The young man was moved nearly to tears when he realized how badly he'd hurt the little one's. By the time it was over, Caleb was convinced that Lee would remain with him.

Once the reunion was over, Caleb had volunteered to walk the children back to their homes. Lee usually did it, but tonight his mother wanted him to stay home. She was frightened that the murder of Hugh wasn't an isolated case; that someone was out to get all nobles. Caleb wasn't particularly worried, though. He'd earned the goodwill of many of the common folk; it would be folly to murder _him._

He was making his way home, whistling as he did so, when he got the suddenly overpowering feeling of being watched. He glanced over his shoulder nervously, assuring himself that no one was there. There were only shadows. Lots and lots of shadows.

The young noble began to quicken his pace. It was probably nothing, but he found it better to be safe than sorry. It was only a few more blocks before he got into the merchant district, which would be patrolled by the Watch.

Caleb had been spending so much time worrying about the feeling behind him, that he hadn't been paying much attention to what was in front of him. He ran right into a man that was very obviously drunk. The smell alone would have indicated it.

The rather large man lifted him by the collar to bring his face closer to Caleb's. "'Ello, mi'lor'. Nice night, eh?" Caleb swallowed audibly. This was not good. The stink of alcohol on the man's breath was overpowering.

"A very nice night," Caleb agreed. He'd been a fool. Not enough people knew him by appearance, and his name was not likely to get through to the drunk.

"Oh, aye," the man said thoughtfully, "yer talk is almost as pretty as yer face." Oh, gods, Caleb thought frantically. Not this. "Yer real pretty," he said again, slurring his words as he did so.

Caleb held up his hands fruitlessly, saying as he did so, "I have a lot of money on me. Why don't you take it and go buy yourself a pretty boy?"

That was the wrong thing to say. The man raised his eyebrows, pulling Caleb closer, "Why don' I jus' take both? Ye fer free, then some more drink," he said the idea like it was very appealing. To him it probably was. He began to drag Caleb into an alley, with the young noble finally beginning to struggle.

Dammit, dammit, dammit, he thought, I should keep a knife on me. It was probably fruitless to call for help...but it was better than nothing. "HELP!" Caleb shrieked, and continued to before the man punched him in the face. Oh, gods, he thought helplessly, what can I do? He was good enough with a sword, but hand-to-hand combat was another story. Only his windpipes would help him now.

"HELP! GUARD!" he called, even though he knew no one would come. He was shoved onto the ground and onto his back, with the man looming over him. There was nowhere to run, and no one to help. He was trapped.


End file.
